Fathers and Brothers
by Janiqua
Summary: When Sammy was ten years old, he decided to run away from home! While trying to sneak through his crazy neighbor's yard, however, he's mistaken for another boy, and forced into a different family.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This story takes place when Sammy's ten and Dean's fourteen. It's pretty much about family, and how terribly the Winchesters' need each other. I hope everyone enjoys it… **Warning! **I'm gonna tell you right now that there's a little bit of Sammy torture in this one… I promise it's not _that_ bad… At least I don't think it is. Please read it anyway! I spent a long time writing it!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Supernatural.

**ooooooo**

**SUPERNATURAL**

**Fathers and Brothers**

**ooooooo**

_I am so friggin' sick of this…_

Dean Winchester, fourteen years old, clad in torn jeans, a long-sleeved flannel shirt, and sporting a rather deadly looking hunting knife on his belt, sauntered over to the makeshift kitchen of the rundown trailer his family had been renting for the past four months. It was freezing outside; there was frost on the ground, and as the trailer completely lacked electricity, he _really _wasn't in the mood for his little brother's latest temper tantrum. It was just too damn cold for this! _God, Sammy, give it a rest!_

"I'm not going!"

"Sammy!"

"You can't make me!"

"How many times are we going to go through this?"

"It isn't fair! I have friends here!"

"You'll make new friends. You always do."

"It won't be the same!"

Dean closed his eyes, trying to block out the sound of it all. Sammy was ten years old. He was dressed in overalls and a white T-shirt. Definitely _not_ the warmest outfit in the world, but Sammy never complained about the cold. No. The only thing _he _ever complained about was their nomadic existence. _Jesus, Sammy. Don't you know dad just wants to help people?_

But that was bull, and Dean knew it as much as Sammy did. Their dad didn't care _half_ as much about helping people as he did about killing the thing that had killed their mom. The only reason they moved around so much was because John Winchester wanted to find the damn bastard and send it careening back into hell where it most definitely and undeniably belonged. After all, who wouldn't?

The problem was… that unlike Dean… Sammy didn't remember his mother. He didn't remember her, and therefore couldn't possibly be expected to understand what it was that had been taken from him. He couldn't! You would think that, since this was the only way of life Sammy had ever known, than _he'd_ be the one willing to accept it most readily. But… that hadn't been the case. That hadn't been the case at all! The only thing… the only damn thing Sammy wanted was to fill the empty pit in his heart that constantly reminded him he had no mother. He had no home. He wasn't like other children. He was missing out. And he was so frustrated because of it that… that… that helping their father meant next to nothing to him!

And so, every time they were told to pack their things, _this_ was the typical response. Loud temper tantrums. Sammy made a scene. John patiently worked to pacify him. And Dean retreated into the background, waiting for things to settle down before helping his brother gather together what sparse belongings he owned. Dean himself never needed to pack. Mainly because he had long since given up _unpacking_. What was the point? It would only ever be a matter of time. Eventually, Sammy would figure that out, too. But until then… this was the unending routine.

"I won't go!"

"Dean!" John Winchester suddenly turned towards his eldest son, who immediately snapped to attention. "Get your brother's stuff together. We're leaving in ten minutes."

"Yes sir," Dean replied automatically, heading towards the room he'd been sharing with his brother. Sammy, however, dove towards it with an unexpected burst of speed, and, upon reaching it first, raced inside and slammed it shut. Dean blinked, picked up his pace, and grabbed the door handle. Not that it surprised him much or anything, but the door barely budged. Sammy had locked it. And if that wasn't bad enough, the crummy old door didn't even have a keyhole! Instead, it had one of those hook latches on the inside that were literally impossible to pick – a talent the fourteen year old was actually quite proficient at.

Feeling utterly dejected, Dean turned towards his father and shrugged. "Guess we should have seen this one coming."

John sighed, grumbling about how they didn't have time for this. He walked over to the door and gently moved Dean aside. "Sammy!" He turned the handle, despite the futility of such an act, and pressed his ear against the wooden frame. "Sammy, open this door!" There was no response. He couldn't hear a thing from the other side.

Moving swiftly and fluidly, John backed up a step and literally kicked the door open. It was one of the nice things about living in such a hovel. No door could keep the eldest Winchester out.

Predictably, Sammy was nowhere to be seen. John took a step back and glanced at Dean, nodding him forward. Hardly able to suppress a groan, the fourteen year old entered the room and opened the closet door. His brother wasn't there. "Oh, come _on_, Sammy." Dean turned towards the two beds in pure disgust. They had both been pushed together up against the wall in the corner. Sammy got the bed closest to the wall, so that if anything should ever attack at night, he'd already be out of the line of fire. It was… yet another way that Dean could protect his little brother. It had long since been ingrained in his head that Sammy was basically his responsibility. Sammy was younger. Sammy was more vulnerable. If anything _ever_ happened to Sammy, Dean wouldn't be able to…

Getting down onto his hands and knees, Dean peered underneath the two beds. But, much to his astonishment, Sammy still wasn't there! Well _that _didn't make any sense! The trailer was a shabby mess to be sure, and their bedroom was no exception… but there were only two places in which a boy could hide. And Sammy wasn't in either one of them!

"Uh… dad…"

John recognized the tone in Dean's voice right away. He recognized it. He knew what it meant. And he understood all too well that there was definitely a problem. Walking into the room, the eldest Winchester made straight for the window. Dean sat up to watch him, growing painfully tense. John _never _entered his kids' room when Sammy got like this. It had _always _been Dean's job to coax the little boy out. After all, no matter what family you were a part of, there were always different responsibilities for different people. Different roles. Different duties. When Sammy threw a temper tantrum, it was John's job to calm him down. When Sammy decided to hide in the closet or underneath a bed, it was Dean's job to get him out. That was just the way of things in this family. When Sammy got like this, John absolutely _never _crossed the boundary that was, in fact, the threshold to their room. But there he was… pausing at the window only for a second before uttering a soft curse.

"Dad?" Dean whispered, but John had already turned back around and left the room. Scrambling to his feet, Dean hastened to follow. "Dad?"

"He's outside," John explained without so much as even turning his head. Dean felt his heart jump in his throat. Not only was it friggin' cold outside, but the trailer in which they lived had several – literally dozens – of other lots surrounding it. And their neighbors… Damn, some of their neighbors were honest to God lunatics! This place was by no means part of the American Dream!

Dean didn't even want to _think _about some of the crap that could be found outside. Broken bottles… cars that were missing doors… engines… windows… Hell, a kid could get tetanus from just about anything he picked up off the ground! Not to _mention _rabies from that one Doberman four lots down… "Christ, Sammy…"

Throwing the door open, John plowed outside with Dean directly on his heels. The two of them ran around the trailer, keeping their eyes open for Sammy. But the kid wasn't anywhere to be seen!

John turned towards Dean, his face dark and etched with worry. "Check the car. If Sammy's not there, grab a .45 and start searching. Don't ask _anyone_ for help."

"Yes, sir," Dean didn't so much as even blink an eye. It wasn't the first time he had been told to handle a gun, after all. Hell, there was a friggin' knife hanging from his belt, damn it! But at fourteen, Dean still wasn't quite bulky enough to effectively use it against men like his dad. He could only imagine how helpless Sammy would be should one of their kindly neighbors see him… The kid still wasn't even _half _his brother's size! – though John _did _warn him not to boast too much about that quite yet. Sammy still had to reach puberty. For all they knew, he could end up taller than either one of them. Right. As if _that _would ever happen.

Dean hastened towards the Chevy Impala. John promised that it'd be his one day… but at that particular moment, Dean could care less. Stupid, dumb little Sammy had to run away and could, by now, be in who knew what kind of trouble! He was _so_ going to get his ass kicked for this one!

At least… Dean hoped he would…

They needed to find him first…

**ooooooo**

**A/N: **Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning: **This chapter's got a lot of language in it and a little bit of child abuse. Poor Sammy!

**ooooooo**

_I'm not going! I'm not going! They can't make me! Not this time!_

The trailer park was not the safest place in the world to be running around in. Sammy knew that just as well as anyone. He actually _had _listened to his father when they first moved into that dump four months ago. They were living in the slums. They were not to play outside. If Sammy wanted to play, he'd have to ask Dean to take him to the school's playground. They were not to talk to their neighbors. If Sammy wanted to talk to someone outside his family, he'd have to talk to the parents of the friends he made at school. Or to his teacher. But definitely _not _to his neighbors. He was not to pick anything up off the ground. And he most definitely was not to go within fifty feet of the damn Doberman! But that wasn't John's rule so much as it was Sammy's own… He _hated _that dog!

He hated it… but not nearly as much as he hated life in general – which, using one of Dean's favorite words, sucked. It sucked ass. Sammy was so sick and tired of it! He was going to run away! He was going to run away forever!

A door to one of the trailer's flew open, and Sammy instinctively dove for cover behind a rather large pile of some twelve or so tires. From there, he could clearly see a man stepping outside, and felt his muscles tense. The men in this neighborhood were worse than _any_ of the others. The women were all old and tired and ugly – not because they had been born ugly, but because they had grown so… And while some of them yelled and swore and raised up hell, they were, for the most part, pretty much harmless. And as for the other children… They never so much as even _looked _in Sammy's direction! At least not since the day when Dean had… had…

Well, to be quite frank, had beaten the crap out of four of them at once. Dean was _incredibly_ strong… And he hadn't wasted anytime whatsoever in earning the neighborhood gang's respect and fear. They left the Winchester boys alone.

But the grown men… Not even _Dean_ would dare chance his luck against them. Not yet, anyway. Children, whether they were teenagers or four years old, who got in the way of an angry, drunk, full grown male adult generally _always_ ended up with a smashed face! John had told both of his children quite clearly that if either one of them ever so much as even acknowledged the mere existence of one of those bastards, those bastards would quickly become the _least_ of their worries. And Sammy had no doubt in his mind whatsoever that his dad would indeed skin either one of them alive – figuratively speaking, of course – if they were caught disobeying. After all… this was definitely _not _the kind of place that John Winchester normally chose to inhabit.

It was a pretty bad situation, through and through – there wasn't any doubt about that. But Sammy had heard John telling Dean one night that there were cops on his tail. More cops than usual. They needed a place to lie low for awhile before he could even think about taking another job. And so… they ended up here. Obviously, John was less than thrilled about it. In fact, he hated the place with a fiery passion!

But… despite all that… Sammy didn't want to leave. The school he was attending… It was the best he'd ever been in! He absolutely _loved_ his teacher! And he had so many friends! He didn't want to go! He wouldn't go! He absolutely refused! It didn't matter where he lived – after all, his family was dysfunctional enough as it was already. He didn't care about the fact that the trailer had no electricity. Or the fact that it had no TV. Or the fact that he had to walk a mile and a half just to play outside on the school's swing set! He just didn't care! The school itself… made up for everything.

_All I have to do is get outta this place… If I can make it to my school… maybe Mrs. Morrison will adopt me or something…_

Probably not, but one could hope.

God, was it cold out! Sammy hadn't noticed it at first, but his teeth were now starting to chatter, and he hoped the stupid man wouldn't hear. Rubbing his arms together, Sammy waited for the man to go away. He waited for the man to get inside his truck. Once the man had started the engine, Sammy knew he was home free. He stole away, dashing between trailers, cars, trash heaps, and god only knew what else, moving with all the stealth and speed he could possibly muster, as he prayed to whoever might be listening for a way out. The place was like a maze, and Sammy had no idea where he was going! After all, he wasn't exactly using the dirt road that he and his brother followed to get to school everyday. No… That really would have been a dumb plan. His father would catch him in less than half a minute were he to try using a _road_ to get out of the place!

_I just hope I'm not running in circles, _the boy thought forlornly as he wove his way in and out of other people's dead, dying, and decaying yards. _Have to get out… Have to get out… Have to get out…_

Sammy didn't even see it. Well, to be perfectly honest, he didn't really have _time_ to see it, he was in such a hurry! Scurrying around yet another trailer, he found himself running straight towards a rather large bundle of barbed wire!

Swearing, the ten year old tried to stop… tried to turn… tried to avoid it at all possible costs… but simply wasn't quite quick enough. Instead, he rammed right into it, immediately feeling the stinging sensation of several barbs tearing into his skin. Seconds later, he found himself on the ground, painfully entangled in the mess. He winced, trying to hold back the tears that presently blurred his vision. What was he going to do now?

Several feet away, Sammy thought he could see something moving. Glancing up, he realized, much to his dismay, that there had been a man reclining in an old, broken down lawn chair! He had been drinking from a beer can, but now that his eyes were on Sammy, he threw it violently to the ground and pushed up to his feet. Sammy's heart stopped as the man stumbled forward – clearly drunk.

He wasn't a small guy by any means whatsoever. He was actually quite a bit larger than Sammy's own dad! He wore torn jeans and a white muscle shirt that looked several sizes too small for him. His face and arms were both covered in hair, and it was quite obvious the guy hadn't showered in weeks. There were mosquitoes all around him… and he didn't even seem to notice. The mere sight of him was enough to petrify Sammy. He couldn't move. He could barely even breathe! Instead of trying to untangle himself and run for all he was worth, Sammy just sat there in a heap, cowering like a frightened child.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" the man demanded, reaching Sammy and bending over him, leaning so far forward that the boy could feel his awful, hot, disgusting breath on his face.

"I'm sorry!" he whispered, his heart suddenly beating again, but so rapidly that he feared it might burst. "I didn't mean to-!"

"I thought I told you to stay the fuck away from here today, Tommy!"

_Tommy?_ Sammy stared at the man in increasing terror. Who was Tommy? "I'm sorry…?" The boy didn't have time to so much as even blink an eye! The man had grabbed him by the hair and was now aggressively pulling him out of the heap of tangled wire. It was all Sammy could do not to cry out in pain as barbs ripped through his skin and clothes. The next thing he knew, the man was throwing him to the ground in front of him. Breathless, Sammy lay there in a complete daze. _What's happening…?_

"Can't a man have five minutes' peace around here?" The monster of a man was shouting at him from above. "I feed you! I clothe you! I put a roof over your head! And this is the thanks I get?"

There was no doubt about it. This guy was _crazy_! This was the kind of guy his dad had warned him about. Sammy needed to get away. He needed to get as far away from here as he possibly could, and he needed to do it fast! Trying to ignore the pain, he struggled to get to his feet. _Have to… get away…_

"Where do you think you're going, Tommy?" The man descended upon him like a demon. Sammy shouted as one frighteningly large hand grabbed the back of his neck, squeezing it tightly.

"Let go!" He could barely manage a whisper… The man's grip on his neck hurt so much…

"Are you talking back to me, boy?" the man growled angrily. "I'll teach you to talk back to me, you ungrateful little shit!" He started towards the trailer in which he no doubt lived, dragging Sammy along with him. His grip on the kid didn't loosen whatsoever, and Sammy could barely bring himself to keep from crying.

There was a sudden bit of movement to his left. Sammy noticed, but his captor surely didn't. And when the boy looked, he caught sight of another kid his own age. Like him, the kid had shaggy brown hair, but other than that, there wasn't any resemblance. Nevertheless, Sammy knew who it was, and immediately shouted for him to help. Surely, _surely_ the real Tommy would correct his father's error!

Or not. The boy just shook his head in clear amazement before spinning on his heel and bolting in the opposite direction. He wasn't stupid, after all. Sammy screamed, as if begging for someone – anyone – to hear and come to his rescue. But no one did. Aside from his drunken aggressor, Sammy was completely alone… and the only good his screaming did was piss the man off.

"Shut the fuck up!" he snarled angrily, pushing Sammy through the door and into a dark, filthy room that smelled strongly of beer. With a final shove, he threw the boy onto the floor, and then turned to lock the door behind him.

Sammy's training immediately set in. Pushing up to his feet, his eyes quickly scanned the room, searching for a way out. The entire place was a mess – worse than the trailer his family had been living in! All the windows were boarded shut… And though they did have plenty of cracks through which sunlight was able to shine, they weren't quite large enough for a boy Sammy's size to squeeze through. On the far side of the room, however, there was a single door, and Sammy bolted towards it as quickly as his legs could carry him…

"You running from me, boy?" The man tore after him, grabbing his arm and roughly jerking him back. Sammy wasted no time whatsoever in once again screaming as loudly as he could… which more than likely wasn't his brightest idea in the world.

"Shut your damn mouth Tommy!" The man roughly turned Sammy around before backhanding him across the face with such ferocity that the boy found himself on the ground again.

He looked up at his attacker in terror. "Stop it! I'm not Tommy! My name's Sam Winchester!"

The man's eyes darkened considerably. And for the second time in less than five minutes, Sammy realized without the shadow of a doubt that this lunatic was more than just a little crazy. He was downright dangerous. "What? Am I now not good enough for you, boy? You thankless bastard!" Getting down on his knees, the man grabbed the front of Sammy's overalls and the shirt he wore underneath. With his other hand, he proceeded to backhand the boy a second time. "You want a different name now? Mine's not good enough for you? Is that it?"

"No! That's not-" Sammy tried to pry the man's hand off his clothing, but that only earned another slap in the face. "Stop it!" He could barely see straight… His ears were ringing… He felt like throwing up…

"What's your name?" the man demanded.

"It's Sam!"

"What's your name?" the man was screaming now. He shook Sammy hard, seemingly oblivious to the fact that there wasn't any way in the world a boy could possibly answer a question like that when being so severely shaken. But then, after another moment, he stopped as suddenly as he had begun, and barked the question a third time.

Broken and utterly defeated, Sammy started to whimper. "It's Tommy…" _Just… just stop it… please just stop it…_

"Now, that's more like it," the man grumbled, getting to his feet and pulling Sammy up with him. Grabbing the boy by his upper arm, the man started dragging him towards the door that led deeper into the trailer. "Tommy Douglas. And don't you ever even _think_ about trying to change it again, you damn little bastard." He kicked open the door and forced Sammy into a tiny hallway. Then, he spun around towards yet _another_ door, and the ten year old found himself staring into an empty bathroom. His captor, Douglas, wasted no time whatsoever in reaching his free hand inside, grabbing a bar of the most disgusting soap Sammy had ever seen in his entire life. It was obviously old, unused, and literally covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs.

"Come on!" Douglas turned towards Sammy. "I'll teach you to talk back to me…" He wasn't yelling as loudly anymore. He seemed to have calmed down, as if, upon realizing that he was most _definitely_ in control, there was no reason to raise his voice. Forcing Sammy's back up against the wall, he held up the soap. "You're going to wash your mouth out, boy!"

Sammy's eyes widened in terror, and he shook his head frantically. "No! You're making a mistake!" _Why was this happening to him? _

"Oh yeah?" Douglas pressed the soap against the child's face. "Open your mouth!" Sammy didn't. In fact, he shut his mouth as tightly as he could. There's no way…! "Open your fucking mouth!" Douglas let go of Sammy only long enough to grab the boy's jaw and squeeze it so tightly that he couldn't help but obey. And the moment that he did, the man practically shoved the soap down his throat.

It was too much for the ten year old. He lost control of himself, and grabbed the wrist in front of him with both hands, trying to push it away. Upon realizing that he wasn't strong enough, Sammy lifted up his leg and kicked the man where he knew it would hurt the most. It wasn't a strong kick… not by a long shot… but it got the bastard off him and that was all that mattered.

Spitting the soap out of his mouth, Sammy scrambled to get away. But once again, Douglas proved to be faster and astonishingly powerful. He reached his hand out and grabbed Sammy's ankle. The boy fell, landing heavily on the ground. Seconds later, Douglas was on top of him. Sammy screamed, but his scream was cut short when the bastard's hand pressed heavily against his mouth.

_I can't do this!_ Sammy could feel himself starting to hyperventilate as panic tried to tear free. He knew he couldn't panic. His father always told him that these were the situations in which you couldn't afford to panic. But… it was so hard not to.

"I'll make you pay for that," Douglas was growling, sweating profusely as he once again dragged Sammy to his feet. He forced the boy through yet another door, which seemed to lead into what appeared to be a bedroom. There was an old, lopsided mattress lying on the middle of the floor… but other than that, nothing but dust and grime.

Douglas bent down to pick something up off the ground. Sammy couldn't see what it was… but a moment later, the man was forcing him to lie down on the mattress. A strange sense of foreboding crept its way into Sammy's heart, and he started struggling again as fiercely and as wildly as he could. Douglas, however, barely seemed to notice; he was just too strong! Shoving the boy onto his stomach, he then proceeded to sit down on top of him.

"What are you doing?" Sammy screamed, but Douglas didn't seem to hear. Either that or he just wasn't paying attention. Not that it particularly mattered or anything… After all, one way or the other, he was still in as much trouble as ever.

It felt like an eternity was passing by in just a few short seconds. And then… Sammy heard a sound that quite possibly caused his heart to stop. A sound… that reminded him painfully of paper being torn in half. But… he knew without a doubt that it wasn't tearing paper.

It was duct tape.

"I think you need a timeout, Tommy," Douglas informed the child heatedly. He grabbed both of Sammy's arms and forced them awkwardly behind his back.

"Stop it!" Sammy screamed as loudly as he could. "Let me go! Don't do this! I'm not Tommy! I've never met Tommy in my life! My name's Sam!"

"Are we back to this again?" Douglas asked angrily, taping Sammy's wrists together almost methodically. Sliding off the boy, he turned to grab his ankles… only to stop short and audibly catch his breath. Sammy tensed, wondering what was going on. A minute passed in which Douglas did not move. It was impossible trying to decide whether or not that was a good thing…

When Douglas finally _did_ speak, his voice was low and angry. "Where'd you get those shoes?"

_Oh crap…_

"Did you steal them?" Douglas spun around and violently grabbed Sammy's jaw. "Did you steal those fucking shoes?" He was screaming again, and all the boy could do was stare at him in terror. Douglas cursed, releasing him roughly and turning back towards his feet. One by one, he forced Sammy's shoes off, swore even louder when he saw the boy's socks, and pulled them off as well. "You rotten little thief!" He grabbed the duct tape again and slowly began wrapping it tightly around the boy's ankles. "You want shoes? You want socks? You want to keep your feet covered? All you had to do was ask!" He didn't stop when Sammy's ankles were securely bound. Instead, he went on to wrap up the boy's feet in tape as well. Sammy started whimpering as Douglas completely mummified him from his ankles down.

"I hope you appreciate how close I am to snapping your little neck, Tommy!" Douglas snarled, glancing over his shoulder at the boy in obvious disgust. Pulling off even more tape from the role, the bastard quickly set about binding together Sammy's legs, both above and below his knees. He then got to his feet and walked back out into the hall.

"This can't be happening," Sammy whispered through his tears, twisting his arms around as best he could while trying to feel for the end of the tape. Maybe he could peel it off… Closing his eyes, Sammy struggled to concentrate. He _knew_ he could do this… Dean used duct tape against him all the time! Just… never this excessively before…

As it was, he didn't see, or even hear, Douglas returning. All he knew was that, seemingly out of no where, a foot plowed its way straight into his stomach. It felt like he'd been shot. Gasping, Sammy crumbled into a ball before promptly throwing up.

"You're a piece of work, you know that?" Douglas demanded furiously. "What do I gotta do in order to teach you respect, you rotten bastard?" Sammy whimpered as his aggressor pulled him off the mattress and dropped him on the floor. "I should cut off your fucking fingers!"

"Stop it…" Sammy heard himself begging.

"What is it with children?" Douglas asked, grabbing the duct tape again and wrapping it around the boy's hands. He kept at it until they were just as mummified as the kid's feet. There was no way on earth Sammy would _ever_ be able to get loose like this! He couldn't even move his fingers a fraction of an inch!

"Stop it…" he said again, louder. "Let me go…"

"I'm trying to teach you a lesson here, Tommy!" Douglas replied drunkenly. "You're just… what? Seven? You might not know it right now, but this is really for your own good. You'll thank me one day."

"Don't count on it," Sammy whispered. "When my dad finds me, he's going to kick your ass!"

Douglas exploded. Grabbing Sammy by the arm, he picked him up and threw him against the wall. What with his feet wrapped up the way they were, Sammy wasn't able to catch himself, and ended up on the floor again. He immediately tried slithering towards the door, but felt like a fish out of water.

"When your dad?" Douglas asked in a dangerous voice, advancing on him furiously. "What is the fucking matter with you, Tommy? _I'm_ your dad! I am! Me!" He grabbed the boy and forced him to lie on his back. Sammy started whimpering again, terrified of what would come next. Where was his father? Where was Dean?

"Leave me alone…" he whispered pleadingly.

"Tell me something first, Tommy," Douglas replied, suddenly speaking in a voice that was startlingly calm. Sammy glanced up at him apprehensively… Was that… was that _affection_ he saw in the bastard's face? The guy couldn't even tell the difference between his own son and an absolute stranger!

"Tell me, Tommy," Douglas repeated, stroking Sammy's cheek with the back of his hand. "And don't lie to me, because if you lie to me, I'll cut out your tongue."

Sammy flinched and turned his head, trying to look away. "Tell you what?" His voice sounded desperately close to breaking.

"Tell me you're sorry," Douglas ordered. Sammy couldn't believe what he was hearing. He hadn't done anything wrong! He didn't need to apologize!

"Tell me you're sorry!" Douglas shouted, with such ferocity in his voice that Sammy cringed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Douglas smirked, obviously pleased. "Who are you apologizing to, Tommy?" There was a hard edge to his voice, and Sammy somehow knew exactly what it was he wanted to hear.

It felt like his heart was being ripped out from his chest. "I'm sorry… father…"

Douglas's expression immediately softened. "Good. Now tell me you understand why you're being punished. Tell me _why_ you're being punished!"

Sammy couldn't see anything through his tears anymore. "I understand… I… I was… being disrespectful…"

Douglas nodded. "Tell me you appreciate what I'm doing for you, because I'm teaching you how little children ought to behave!"

"I… appre… appreciate what… you're doing for me… because… you're teaching me how… how…" He couldn't finish. He didn't have the strength to finish.

"How little children ought to behave," Douglas prompted.

Sammy felt like he was choking. "How little children ought to behave."

"Tell your father that you love him," Douglas commanded.

Sammy closed his eyes, wishing he could just die. "I…" Where was his father? "I…"

"Tommy," Douglas's tone was predatory. "Tell your father that you love him."

"I love you," Sammy whispered brokenly. "Please don't do this to me!"

"It's for your own good, Tommy," Douglas assured him, holding up the bar of soap. It was the reason why he had gone back out into the hall. Sammy whimpered when he saw it and tried to turn away. But Douglas wouldn't let him. He grabbed the boy's jaw and, upon forcing it open, shoved the soap inside his mouth. But he wasn't satisfied with forcing it just slightly in. Oh, no. He wanted it _all_ the way in, and had to jam it into the back of Sammy's mouth to do so. He was choking the boy, and Sammy nearly threw up again.

"It's okay," Douglas said softly, as if hoping to comfort the boy. "It's okay." He reached for the duct tape, picked it up, and then roughly pressed it against Sammy's mouth. The boy felt the soap slipping towards his throat, and, trying not to panic, fought harder than he ever had before in his life to keep it on his tongue. He didn't want to choke! He didn't want to die…

"That's it," Douglas said approvingly, working slowly to wrap the tape a second time over Sammy's mouth. Then he wrapped it a third time, and then a fourth. Sammy's entire body was shaking profusely as the man calmly positioned the tape over his mouth, behind the back of his head, then over his mouth again, until he was quite satisfied with his work. Sammy could barely breathe, and was quickly slipping into despair. _Somebody make it stop…_

"What do you think, Tommy?" Douglas asked, sitting back a ways and gazing down at the boy fondly. He reached a hand forward and affectionately ruffled Sammy's hair. The boy flinched, unable to keep his tears from falling. "How long should your punishment last? A day? How 'bout three?"

Sammy stared up at him in wide-eyed terror. Surely he wasn't _serious_! Frantic, Sammy shook his head fiercely, wanting nothing more than to scream. Douglas observed his reaction for a moment, and then laughed.

"Come on," he said, picking the boy up in his arms that way his father sometimes did. "Let's get you somewhere tucked away." _Where no one can ever find you…_ He carried Sammy towards a closet, and opened the door. "Go on, Tommy. Get inside."

_This can't be happening!_ The closet Douglas spoke of wasn't a walk-in. It wasn't even close! The door opened up to reveal a built-in cabinet with a rack of hangers. There wasn't any room to stand in whatsoever! Sammy couldn't… He _couldn't_…

But Douglas didn't even hesitate. Holding the door open with his foot, he forcibly dumped Sammy on top of the cabinet. In order to fit, the boy had to sit there with his knees bent in front of him. There just wasn't any room! No means to even sit there comfortably! It was… simply constructed out of hard wood and hard edges.

"You're a good boy, Tommy," Douglas said almost gently. "It hurts me having to punish you like this. But you aren't leaving me any choice. Your mum didn't leave me any choice, either. It's a damn shame."

_Where are you, daddy? Where are Dean? _Sammy wished they'd find him… He didn't want to stay in this terrible place any longer! He didn't! He didn't! He didn't!

"Don't worry," Douglas said calmly. "This won't last any longer than it has to." And with that, he took a step backwards and shut the door, blanketing Sammy in absolute darkness.

**ooooooo**

**A/N: **If you want to know what happens, send me a review! Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

**ooooooo**

It had been three hours since Sammy had gone missing. Three fucking hours! Dean couldn't remember the last time he had been separated from his brother for so long! Even when they were at _school_, Dean skipped the first five minutes of every period so that he could run across the street and peer in through the kid's classroom window, just to make sure nothing was wrong! He couldn't stand this!

"Damn it, Sammy." He was sitting outside the trailer on a discarded lump of wood, clutching his cell phone tightly in hand. It was still freezing out, and the sky was getting darker by the second. Therefore, it was to Dean's extreme disappointment, when the Chevy Impala _finally_ pulled up in what had passed as a driveway these last four months, that Sammy wasn't to be seen in the passenger's seat. "Damn."

John stepped out of the car, looking like he was in the middle of hunt – which, in a way, he kind of was. Dean could only hope that, when they finally did find Sammy… that is… _if_ they found him… there wouldn't be anyone stupid enough to get in-between him and them. 'Cause if there were, Dean had a sneaking suspicion that whoever they were would get their asses kicked.

"He's not at the school," John said, walking towards his eldest son – who immediately rose to his feet. "He's not at the library. And he's not anywhere in-between."

"I've called everyone Sammy knows," Dean said, looking down at his cell phone. The kid had an awful lot of friends in this town, but he never went to anyone's house unless Dean had the number – and even then, he never got to spend the night. Ever. Though _that_ particular rule had been put in place more for Dean's benefit than for Sammy's. John knew perfectly well how protective the fourteen year old was of his little brother. "No one's seen him. I even called Mrs. Morrison! His teacher. I tried everyone short of the cops."

"We don't need the cops," John said forcefully. They _definitely_ didn't need the cops. Calling the cops would be the surest way of going from bad to worse. Dean knew that perfectly well. John took a deep breath. "All right. How much of the actual vicinity were you able to search?"

"Without drawing attention to myself?" Dean shook his head. "If Sammy's hiding underneath a trailer somewhere… Damn him."

"Watch your mouth," John said stoically. "We're going to find him." Dean shook his head again, stared at the ground, and then glanced back up at his father, clearly about to say something.

But before he could, he was unexpectedly interrupted.

"I could tell you where he is."

Both father and son whirled around so quickly, it was as if they had spotted a wendigo or something. But it wasn't a wendigo. It wasn't anything even _remotely_ supernatural. In fact, it was just… a ten year old boy… with shaggy brown hair that reminded Dean painfully of Sammy.

Standing casually with his hands in his pockets, the kid had a swollen lip and a black eye. His expression, however, wasn't one of pain or fear or timidity – which one might expect from a boy his age who had clearly been treated as a punching bag. Dean swore then and there that if the day ever came when Sammy wore _that_ particular expression, then _he'd_ become a murderer. Because Dean knew without a doubt that he would kill, in a heartbeat, anyone involved whatsoever in taking away Sammy's innocence.

"Who are you?" John was asking, examining the boy with such intensity that any _sane_ ten year old would back the hell off. But this kid didn't. It was almost as if… he had seen worse that John Winchester before.

"My name's Tommy Douglas," he informed the older man squarely. He didn't even blink! What kind of ten year old wasn't intimidated by John Winchester? "And I've seen where your kid is! I'll take you to him! But I've got my price."

"You?" Dean scoffed and shook his head. This was absurd! They weren't about to pay a friggin' ten year old ransom money, now were they? Upon glancing at his father, however, Dean realized that… yeah. They probably were.

"What's your price?" John asked evenly. There wasn't any sense in patronizing the boy. It was quite obvious that Tommy's life had almost been as rough as Dean's. There was no way in hell he'd stand for any sort of belittlement whatsoever! John would either just have to humor the kid… or threaten to blow his brains out – which wasn't really an option, if you thought about it. He was only ten years old, for Christ's sake!

But he sure was a cocky ten year old. There wasn't any question about that. "I want two hundred bucks," he informed the eldest Winchester. "I've had it with this place. I want out. But I need a way of escaping so that my old man won't be able to find me. Two hundred bucks, and I'll be able to buy a bus ticket to the other side of the damn country!"

"And then what?" Dean demanded irritably. He was so not in the mood for this! "You're a kid! They don't exactly let kids buy apartments you know!"

"Dean," John said warningly, though not once breaking eye contact with the kid. He sighed. "I'll tell you what, Tommy. I'll give you two hundred bucks _and_ offer you a ride out of Pennsylvania."

Tommy immediately shook his head. "Forget it. Cough over the cash! I'll tell you where your kid is, but if you try going after him, you'll just end up dead. And there's no way in hell I'm gonna sit tight and wait around for that. No sir."

"Dad," Dean glanced at his father in increasing dismay, but John somehow managed to remain as stoic as ever. Not surprising, really. John Winchester had stared death in the face before. There was no way the words of a friggin' _ten_ year old could possibly scare him!

"All right," he said after a moment. Reaching stiffly into his pocket, the eldest Winchester pulled out his wallet. But before he dug any deeper, he glanced at the kid thoughtfully. "It's a lot of money. And there are a hell of a lot of other kids in this neighborhood who'd as soon kill you as blink an eye."

"I'm faster than all of them," Tommy replied confidently. "And I'm not afraid." He certainly didn't look it.

"All right," John repeated, pulling ten twenty dollar bills out of his wallet. He held the money out towards the kid, but not before glancing at Dean with the tiniest of nods. When Tommy sprang forward to make a grab for the cash, Dean stepped in front of him, grabbed his arm, and twisted it roughly behind his back.

"Not so fast!" he taunted cruelly, though without actually hurting the poor kid. After all, he had _plenty_ of experience pinning Sammy to the ground to know perfectly well how much a tough little ten year old like this kid could handle when put in situations like these. "Now where's my brother?"

**ooooooo**

Sammy had absolutely no way of knowing how long he'd been locked up inside that closet. It felt like hours. It felt like days. It felt like an entire eternity! He couldn't stand it! He thought he was going insane! He hadn't cried this hard or for this long in his entire life! It wasn't fair!

_Think, Sammy! Think of something! How hard can it possibly be? What would Dean do if he was here?_ What would Dean do? Hell, if someone was ever able to lock Dean up in a closet, the world would more than likely come to its untimely end! _Especially_ if that someone was an ordinary guy. This was just great! His father was going to be so _mad_!

His father…? His _real _father! Not some crazy, insane, psychotic drunkard who shoved bars of soap down people's throats! Sammy could feel _his _burning pretty badly. It was a constant struggle trying to keep from swallowing the disgusting thing – which Sammy knew would the death of him. He would choke… He would suffocate… He would die… After everything he had seen, and it was going to be a bar of soap that killed him! _Daddy…_

"Tommy!"

Douglas was coming. Sammy tensed, listening in terror as the footsteps of his captor drew near. _No! No, no, no! Go away! Go away! Go away! _But it was a hopeless, futile wish, for half a second later, the man was forcing the closet door open. An unexpected burst of light temporarily blinded the boy, and he winced, closing his eyes while cowering as far away from the man as possible.

"Let's go, Tommy, I think you've learned your-"

Douglas stopped short, and, upon glancing up at him, Sammy could see a look of blank stupefaction crossing his face. He didn't look drunk anymore! Well, he didn't exactly look sober, either, but when his eyes met Sammy's, the boy could definitely tell he no longer had _him_ confused with any of his own offspring. "What the fuck?"

Sammy tensed, and a moment later Douglas had him by the hair and was dragging him out of the closet. "Who the fuck are you?" Forcing Sammy onto the ground, the man produced a swiss army knife. Using its pair of scissors, Douglas roughly started cutting the duct tape that was wrapped around Sammy's face. In so doing, he inevitably cut the boy's skin, but that didn't seem to bother him one bit – though it left Sammy's face bloody and on fire. It was all he could do to keep from throwing another tantrum.

Once the tape was cut, Douglas ripped it the rest of the way off Sammy's head and waited for the boy to spit out the bar of soap. And once _that_ was done, he started asking the tough question. "Who the fuck are you? Where's Tommy?"

"I'm Sam Winchester…" the boy whispered through his tears, unable to recognize the sound of his own choked and raspy voice. He started coughing, and yet, somehow, he managed to keep on talking. "I don't know any Tommy…" Hesitating for a moment, his tearstained brown eyes turned soulfully towards the man in pure, inexpressible dismay. "Please… Please let me… go home?"

The man hesitated. He almost seemed to even consider! But then he glanced down at the watch on his wrist. And _then _he glanced towards the window. Sammy followed his gaze, only to discover, much to his horror, that it was well after dark. Oh God. His father was going to kill him!

"Tommy…" Douglas got to his feet and walked away from Sammy, covering his face in his hands. For a moment, he just stood there, motionless. And then… he looked back at his guest, his expression cold and menacing. "You live around here, boy?"

Sammy nodded meekly. "My dad's going to be really, really, really angry…"

"_Your_ dad?" Douglas let loose a bark of angry laughter. "What do I care about _your_ dad?" He started pacing around the room. "Damn it. Tommy should have been home by now. This is probably his fault! I'll bet it is. Ungrateful brat. Not a day goes by when he doesn't try something new! I'm so fucking sick of it!"

Sammy cowered, wondering whether or not it would be safe to remind the obviously upset man that he was still all tied up and needed to get _untied_ so that he could go on home. He wanted to see Dean very, very, very badly. And, as much as it astonished him to admit, he wanted to see his father very, very, very badly, as well. Why wouldn't this man let him go?

Douglas suddenly froze. Sammy glanced up at him apprehensively, noting the change, and not liking it one bit. When the man turned to regard the boy _this_ time, he did so almost… contemplatively. "Are you a good boy, Sam? Do you behave for your father?"

Sammy hesitated, taken completely aback by such a question. How was it _this _guy's business? "I…" _Actually, I ran away from home just this afternoon, if you want to know the truth. _"I try to… I don't like making him angry… He can get scary sometimes…"

Douglas smiled and nodded his head as if in perfect agreement. "I'm sure he can." Taking a step towards the trussed up child, Douglas knelt down and peered into his frightened eyes. "How would you like to have a different father, Sammy?"

_How's he know to call me that? _Sammy's eyes widened in growing alarm. "I…?" He shook his head. "No… I don't want a different father… I really don't!" _Daddy… Where are you…? Dean…?_

Douglas's eyes darkened ever so slightly. "You think he cares about you? If he cared, why hasn't he come to get you? He knows your missing, and he's probably thanking his lucky stars! He doesn't deserve a boy like you! No one deserves a boy like you! Except me."

Sammy could feel the tears pooling in his eyes again for the umpteenth time. This was _so _not turning out the way it was supposed to! Where was his father? "Please, mister… I just wanna go home…"

"No, no," Douglas grabbed Sammy by the shoulders and savagely dug his claw-like fingers into them. The boy winced. "It's not 'mister,' Sammy. Not anymore. From now on, _I'm_ your father, and you're going to address me as such. And I'm going to address you as Tommy. Do you understand?"

Sammy had no idea where Dean's voice came from, but at that moment, it resounded loudly in his mind. _"Look, Sammy, I know what they've been trying to teach you at school. That lying's bad. Well, let me tell _you _something, kiddo. Sometimes, lying's the only thing in the entire world that'll ever safe your life. If you can't do it, I promise you, you're gonna end up screwed over in a hell of a lot of ways. It's okay to lie."_

Sammy stared at Douglas in terror. "Yes, I understand."

Now _that _brought a smile to the man's face. "Good. Very good." He let go of Sammy's shoulders and once again rose to his feet, pacing from one end of the room to the other. "All right. Now, _obviously_ we can't stay here, Tommy. That wouldn't be very good form at all, now would it?" Sammy stared at him in misery. They'd be leaving…? But then… how would Dad and Dean find him?

As if on cue, there was a rather loud knock coming from the trailer's front door. Sammy froze. Douglas froze. The two of them looked at each other, and for thirty seconds, silence reigned.

There was another knock. Douglas raised a finger to his lips, signaling to Sammy that he had to be quiet. Moving slowly, the man walked back towards the closet in which Sammy had been kept prisoner for so long. Opening one of the cabinet's drawers, he pulled out a gun. Sammy's heart stopped beating the moment that he saw it.

More knocks. Louder, now. Angrier. Someone was obviously getting impatient.

Douglas opened a second drawer. And as Sammy watched, he pulled out several cartridges which he then started feeding into the magazine.

The knocking persisted, and this time there was a voice to go along with it. "SAMMY!"

The boy's eyes widened. It was his father! Douglas looked up sharply, his expression cold and furious. But this time, Sammy wasn't paying any attention to _him_ whatsoever. He had turned towards the sound of John Winchester's voice. "DADDY! I'M IN HERE!"

And that was all that needed to be said. Even from whatever room they were in, when John Winchester kicked open the door, they could hear it loud and clearly. "SAM!"

"You rotten little piece of shit!" Douglas strode towards the ten year old and grabbed him by his hair. Sammy cried out in pain as the man pulled him up off the floor. "_I'm_ your father now! Do you hear me?"

"NO!" Sammy screamed, his heart pounding in his throat. "YOU'RE NOT MY FATHER! DADDY!"

"SAM?" John Winchester appeared like tidal wave in the room's threshold. He was holding a gun in his right hand, which he immediately aimed at Douglas. "Let him go!"

Douglas jerked Sammy around, wrapped his arm savagely around the boy's neck, and aimed the gun directly at his head. "I don't think so. You Winchester?"

John offered him a slight nod, his expression hard and cold. "I'm also someone you don't want to mess around with. Now you let go of my son."

"_Your_ son?" Douglas scoffed. "What do you know about sons? This one's not _your_ son anymore! He's _mine_!"

John didn't favor the man with a reply. Instead, his gaze focused on Sammy. His eyes took in the sight of Sammy's cuts, bruises, dripping blood… and, last but not least, the haunted look on his face. According to Tommy, Sammy had been in this lunatic's care for the past three and a half hours. Slowly, the eldest Winchester moved his gaze back up towards Douglas. "You're not actually planning on shooting him, are you?"

Douglas cocked the gun and Sammy stiffened. "I will if you don't do absolutely everything I tell you, starting with emptying that gun and putting it on the floor!"

John hesitated, glanced at Sammy, and then smiled slightly, nodding his head as if in perfect agreement. "All right. All right." He did as he was told, moving with such grace and speed that Douglas was temporarily struck dumb. Damn, did that guy know how to handle a gun! Slowly John held up his hands so that Douglas could see he was unarmed. "There. Now what?"

Douglas considered the question, and then backed up, dragging Sammy with him. "Come into the room." John obeyed, and when Douglas motioned for the man to walk over to the window, he did so. Douglas moved with him, keeping Sammy between them and the gun pressed firmly up against his neck. By the time John was standing at the window, Douglas was standing by the door. He paused, staring at John suspiciously, wondering whether or not he should kill him.

"You'll never be his father, you know," John stated quietly, however, interrupting the bastard's thoughts. "Now, I'm not going to even try pretending that I'm better than you. Because, one way or the other, Sammy _did_ still run away from me. Every bit as your son ran away from you." Sammy flinched. He could feel Douglas shaking in cold fury, and the gun pressed against his throat trembled dangerously. But… that wasn't what mattered! His father's words… stung so painfully… It was as if someone had torn out his heart!

The tears started pouring down his face like a streaming river! He hadn't meant to run away! At least not _really_… "Daddy, don't-!"

Douglas suddenly tightened his hold on Sammy and pressed the barrel of the gun savagely against the side of his head, which caused the boy to cry out again in renewed terror. "He's not your father, Tommy! Don't you _dare_ call him that again!"

John's brow furrowed. "Tommy?"

Douglas aimed the gun quite suddenly at the eldest Winchester, not even bothering to acknowledge his question. When Sammy realized what was going on, his heart started racing faster than it would have in the middle of a friggin' marathon! What was he doing? What was he doing? What was he doing? No one had _ever _aimed a gun at his father before! It went against the natural order of things! Why wasn't his dad _doing_ anything?

Douglas was yelling at him again. "I think it's time you made a choice, boy! Who do you want as a father? Him? Or me?" Sammy was about to shout out _HIM! _But before he could, his tormenter continued right on yelling in a voice that clearly brooked no interruption. "Make it _real_ good Tommy, or I swear to God I'll kill him!"

Sammy's heart stopped. He couldn't breathe! He couldn't… He couldn't… He couldn't see… His vision was weaving in and out… _Daddy…_

_This can't be happening… It isn't… possible! Why? Why? _Sammy could feel his face twisting painfully into a mask of incalculable despair. The tears sliding down his face dripped towards the floor. He still couldn't breathe… He couldn't…

"Sammy."

Despite _everything_, John Winchester's voice somehow managed to remain as steady and as collected as ever before. Sammy glanced up at him, started breathing again – albeit painfully – and struggled to concentrate. He knew he shouldn't be panicking. It was rule number one in situations like these. Never panic. God, was that hard!

"Sammy," John called out to him again, nodding encouragement. "Whatever happens… You do what you have to do. Understand?"

NO! Why on _earth _did people keep asking him that? He _didn't _understand! He didn't understand any of it! It wasn't-! It wasn't fair!

It wasn't fair… But there wasn't anyway around it… Twisting his neck awkwardly to look up at Douglas, Sammy somehow managed to choke out an answer. "I… I know… you're… you're my father…"

Douglas glanced down at Sammy in genuine surprise. But then he smirked victoriously, nodding his head. "That's right. And don't you forget it, Tommy." He kept the gun fixed on John. "We're leaving. Me and my boy. You so much as even _think _about following, and I'll blow his brains out. I'd rather have a dead son than no son at all. You hear me?"

"Yes," John answered stiffly, as if the word itself was trying to poison him. "Yes."

"Good," Douglas nodded, glancing back down at Sammy. "Come on. We've got a long trip ahead of us, son." Dragging the boy with him, the man slowly backed out into the hall. He was in the process of turning around, however, when, out of nowhere, a large wooden club slammed savagely into his face.

Sammy screamed as Douglas himself was propelled violently against a wall. The next thing he knew, he was on the floor again with the bastard on top of him. It felt like he was being crushed!

"Sammy!" John shouted from the other room. But… it was impossible for the boy to answer. It felt like all the wind had been knocked cleanly out of him!

Something grabbed Douglas and literally _flung_ him away from the ten year old. Seconds later, John was on the floor at the boy's side, pulling him into his arms and cradling him protectively. Sammy welcomed his embrace, for the world seemed to be spiraling out of control. "Daddy…"

"I'm right here, Sam," John assured the child warmly, rocking him back and forth even as he looked up in amazement to watch his other son. Dean… The fourteen year old had this one _nasty_ looking club in his hands, which he was using over and over again to savagely beat the damn bastard who had _dared _attack his family to a downright bloody pulp. John shook his head. "That's enough, Dean!"

The sound of his father's voice was easily enough for the teenager to check his latest swing. After all, there was no longer any doubt in anyone's mind that Douglas was unconscious – if even still alive after _that _particular onslaught. Dean's breathing came very raggedly, and sweat dripped down his face. Wiping his mouth, he dropped the club onto the floor and shook his head. "Bastard." And that was the end of it.

**ooooooo**

**A/N: **Don't worry, I'm not quite done yet! Please send me your reviews! I love them more than you can possibly comprehend! Thank you so much!


	4. Chapter 4

**ooooooo**

It was dark out. The sky was clear and blanketed in stars, but that didn't keep the darkness at bay. Nothing could, for it was well after midnight. Sammy didn't mind it, though, for it wasn't a mean kind of darkness. No. Not at all. It was an astonishingly gentle kind. It made him feel warm and protected…

The Winchester family was on the road again. Tucked away safely inside the 1967 Chevy Impala, they were cruising on down south at a leisurely pace, and Sammy couldn't think of anywhere else he would rather be. Dean had let him have the front seat. After all, John _had _promised to give _him _the car one day, so Dean figured the kid should get used to riding shotgun. Besides, Sammy had had a long day. He deserved a chance to ride up front.

"So where we headed?" the fourteen year old asked then, staring up at the car's ceiling while lying reclined on his back. Sammy glanced over towards his dad, who had _his _eyes fixed on the road.

Several seconds passed before he answered. For a moment, Dean feared he wasn't going to! But… when he did… his voice sounded slightly coarser than was normal. "Haven't decided yet. Called Caleb, though. He's going to be taking the job for us this time. Give us a chance to get back on our feet."

Dean nodded before swinging his legs around so that he could sit up properly. Leaning forward, he glanced from his father to his little brother. "How you doing there, Sammy?"

The kid shrugged, wrapping the blanket his father had given him tightly around his battered body. They hadn't gone to the hospital after escaping from Douglas's trailer. Instead, John had carried the traumatized boy back to the car, where he had then proceeded to tend his wounds himself. The barbed wire had done a number on Sammy's legs and arms, but John wasn't too worried about him getting tetanus or anything. If there was one thing he actually _had _done right by his children, it was making sure they remained perfectly healthy. He had contacts… He knew some people… When it was time for Sammy and Dean to have their annual check-ups, they got check-ups, whether they wanted them or not.

No. It wasn't tetanus John was worried about. It was something else… Something that struck deeper. Sammy… had barely said a word all night. What had happened to him… It wasn't something that should happen to children. Ever. And it would leave its fair share of scars… _Those_ were the scars that John was terrified of.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean whispered, not satisfied with the reply his question had been given. "Look alive there, buddy! Don't make me give you a wedgie."

"Dean!" John said in exasperation. "Sit back and put your seatbelt on!"

"Are you kidding me?" Dean grumbled, nevertheless obeying. He knew better than to argue with his dad. He had already tried to once that night – not that he had been at all successful. Upon carrying Sammy out of that bastard's trailer, John had proceeded straight on towards the car. And after taking care of the ten year old, he had gotten his children in and began driving, clearly in a hurry to put as much distance between them and that damn, forsaken place as possible. No hospital. And no police. They had just… _left _Douglas lying there in a kind of heap on the floor of his trailer. Dean hadn't been too keen on that idea.

They should have called the cops. They should have gotten the bastard thrown into jail for good! They should have… They should have… Well, they should have done _something _to keep the lowlife from ever hurting anyone else again! John, however… He had merely shaken his head, once, telling Dean that they couldn't afford drawing the cops' attention. John really, really did not like cops. He feared… he feared losing his children to them…

In any event, he promised Dean that he _would_ take care of Douglas, just as soon as they were far enough away from him for Sammy to feel safe. John knew he had a sufficient number of friends – and even _more _allies. One way or the other, he would see to it that justice was dealt swiftly.

If there was even such a thing as justice…

"Daddy…?"

Sammy's tiny little voice came out of nowhere. When Dean heard it, he practically dove forward so that he might not miss a word of whatever it was his brother wanted to say. And as for John… he thought he could feel his heart breaking. _Daddy… _There wasn't a word in the entire English language… Hell, there wasn't even a word in _existence_! that could possibly have sounded more beautiful… _Daddy…_ At that moment, John Winchester prayed to God that Sammy might never grow up. That Sammy might never stop calling him that… He didn't want to lose his son!

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Are we… are we gonna be stopping anywhere anytime soon?"

John frowned. "Why? Do you want to?" He temporarily took his eyes off the road to better glance at his baby boy in concern.

But Sammy was shaking his head profusely. "No. It's not that… I…" He hesitated, glancing at his feet.

"Come on, Sammy, you can tell us," Dean coaxed, hanging on to every word just as much as his father was. They both loved that kid to death… They wouldn't fail to do _anything_ for him! Sammy had no idea how much he was cared for… or how much he was needed…

_So help me, God, I'm _never _letting him out of my sight again, _Dean told himself adamantly. From this day on, Sammy would never be alone! Not if _he_ could help it…

"I…" Sammy glanced up at his father forlornly. "I don't want to stop. Can we just… keep driving?"

"Of course we can," John promised him without a second's thought or hesitation. It wasn't as if he _needed _to stop, or anything. On a hunt, he'd been known to stay awake for more than sixty-two hours without even slowing down! If he needed to drive all night and the next day, then he would do it without breaking a sweat. For his son.

"Thank you…" Sammy whispered.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean glanced from his father to his brother, trying to mask his concern under a façade of big brotherly harassment. "Come on! You're not still upset over the whole Douglas thing, are ya?" Sammy glanced over his shoulder and stared at his brother in dismay. John whispered a warning, but the fourteen year old ignored it, choosing instead to scoff at his brother. "Give me a break already, Sammy! The whole thing was utterly ridiculous! No one can take dad away from us!"

For the second time that night, John's brow furrowed. _Where's Dean going with this one? _The kid was sharp. Sharper than most. When it came to thinking on his feet and thinking fast, bearing an incredible affinity for the power of suggestion, Dean had undeniable talent. John just wished he knew ahead of time what might be coming out of the kid's mouth next.

Sammy whimpered quietly… but Dean hardly seemed to care. "I mean, it's our _dad _we're talking about here, buddy! And you have to remember something about him; he's invincible!"

"Uh… Dean." If there was one thing that John absolutely did _not _want, then it was his children growing up under false pretences of his own mortality. But it was the same thing as before. Dean simply wasn't paying attention to him!

"You wanna know something, Sammy?" he asked the kid instead, leaning forward almost conspiratorially. And the ten year old looked back at him, wide eyed and practically transfixed. Which really wasn't _that _surprising, John thought with a shake of his head. His children both pretty much worshiped each other.

"This is very important now, kiddo, so I want you to pay extremely careful attention," Dean spoke with greater solemnity than he ever had before in his entire life. And if anything, Sammy's little eyes widened even _more_ as he nodded his head in consent. Dean took a deep breath before continuing. "That whole argument from before… The one about who was going to be your dad… It was, by far, the most pointless, irrelevant… the most _ludicrous_ thing I've ever heard of! You wanna know why?" Sammy nodded almost hungrily, which brought a slight smile to Dean's face. "Because, at the end of the day, when it all comes down to it, _I'm _the one who still gets to be your brother!" He paused, and, frowning, tilted his head as if in slight concern. "I mean… I _am _still your brother, aren't I?"

A small, slight smile tugged at the corners of Sammy's mouth, and he nodded. "Always, Dean. Promise me…?"

John couldn't help it. Tears welled up in his eyes and he couldn't stop them, for he was trying too hard to keep from making a sound! If he made a sound… it might ruin this utterly perfect moment… which, in itself, would have been a hell of a lot worse than crying in the dark when no one else could see.

Dean was chuckling softly in that way of his. "'Course I promise, Sammy. Hell, you're not getting away from me that easily! We're family, little brother! We're stuck with each other for life!"

Sammy's smile broadened. "Good," he whispered before curling up into a tiny little ball beneath the blanket his father – his _only _father – had given him.

The 1967 Chevy Impala continued on its way south, cruising through the darkness of the countryside. For the Winchesters, it was the safest place in the entire world, and without a doubt the _only_ home they ever needed.

**ooooooo**

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! Please don't forget to send me plenty of reviews! Let me know if you want a sequel or something! Not that I'm planning on writing a sequel or anything… but you never know. LOL!


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